The Bodyguard
by Dejavued
Summary: When Dean is hired to protect the wife of a high profile business man, he thought he knew what he was getting into, but nothing is what it seems. AU Fiction.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

* * *

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

* * *

Chapter 1

(DEAN)

"Get you're filthy hands off my girl, you pervert!"

I rolled my eyes. Here we go again. Just another Friday night in the small, dreary, beer stained hole in the wall. I uncrossed my arms and headed towards the bar where a three hundred pound hairy dude traded blows with a skinny pocked-scared kid over some fake lashed bar tramp with her lips painted too thick.

"Hey, guys, how about a drink on me?" I tried to solve the problem without resorting to violence.

"Mind your business." The big man's breath smelled like shit and I was tempted to offer him a tic tac, but instead, I cracked my neck, shook off the shove to my chest and grabbed the guy by his jacket collar. The adrenaline high kicked in somewhere between the bodies I pummeled the guy through and the drinks that went flying into the air as the trouble maker resisted, but I, although much smaller, had the muscle to back up my mouth – most days.

I gave the guy one last shove out the door. The dude hit the gravel, sliding, the rough texture shaving the top layer of skin from his face. Ouch, that was going to leave a scar. Oh well – it wasn't personal, it was business. I was the bouncer and the patrons had two choices, mind your manners or get kicked the fuck out. I didn't play games.

"Bar's closed – for you." I spat as I strolled back inside. My guys at the door would see to it that the guy didn't become a repeat offender – at least for that night.

"Shit." I sat at the bar, my hand finding the trail of blood running down my arm, tracing it until I found the three inch gash. Damn, I hadn't felt it when it had happened and I'd never seen the guy's knife.

"Ouch." The bartender sat a glass of whiskey in front of me. "Exciting night, huh?" He grinned.

"Boring work," I contradicted and rubbed whiskey on the laceration. I didn't care for the boring stuff – detested it, but boring meant safe, and after my stint in the Special Forces, a little bit of safe was welcomed. But damn I missed the action and the adrenaline rush that came with it.

"Sure – sure." The thirty-something foreign guy bought the place after becoming too obsessed with a movie. He wore his hair slicked back and wore terribly out of date suits. He lived vicariously through me – thinking he could become Dalton just by watching. "Need stitches? Got stuff here." He set a hard plastic box on the bar.

"Dude, you definitely got a screw loose." I lifted the lid with the broken latches. "Where the hell did you get this anyway?" It was old and battered. "You know you can buy this new at the surplus store."

"No joke?"

"No joke, Mo."

All that schooling and the guy possessed little more than an a functioning IQ.

I downed what was left of the shot just to irritate him. He didn't allow me to drink while I was working. It wasn't a global rule – just my rule – his Dalton. Yeah, it was about time to find a new gig. I was sick of living in that man's rerun fantasy.

I finished my shift and walked Mo out. We went our separate ways, with him getting in an high dollar Sudan and me unlatching the carabiner key holder from my belt loop. I watched until he exited the parking lot then hit the button to unlock the black four-by-four sitting by itself in the furthest spot from the building.

I made my way out onto the main road, made a quick right then, cruised a series of backroads. I was more than ready to settle in for the night.

I rented a small, over a garage apartment just outside of town. Not too far from work, not too far from the grocery and gas, and it was quite.

I turned off the engine quickly and carefully shut the door. Every night I hoped I didn't wake my landlord by coming in at a mid-morning hour. If I ever did, he never complained – Maybe he didn't wear his hearing aid at night.

I didn't own a lot. Couch, recliner, bed, a few basic appliances, and of course a kick ass entertainment system. I didn't see the need for much more. What was the point, right? Women were the ones who decorated everything and I didn't have one of those in my life – by choice. I had an array to choose from. Barflies, young things going through a bar hopping phase – and they were crazy about a guy who kick some ass, but I was turned off by chicks that had been dipped more times than they can remember. Face it. The kind of woman I dreamed didn't hang out in my kind of world and if they did, they wouldn't notice I was in it.

I opened the cabinet and took out a pan. Threw in a couple of pieces of chicken I'd put in the fridge to thaw, then chopped up lettuce in a bowl. I threw in some cheese and shit, then washed, dried and put away what I could while I finished the meat.

Everything had its own place in my house and I expected it to stay put unless it was being utilized. I was OCD like that – or bored.

I crunched on that salad – played a game on my Xbox, then went to bed, placed my arms under my head and stared at the ceiling. Yeah, that was my exciting life – boring job – quiet private life – plump bank account. The easy way – just as I'd always wanted.

I was the only son of two loving parents, but it wasn't always easy. They loved me, supported me, and worked hard, but they couldn't always give me what I needed. We struggled. We lived in a barely above condemned house. The heat never worked, the water was brown and had to be boiled, and the floors were weak and sometimes broke beneath our steps – and the landlord wanted too much for it. Like clockwork he banged on the door a week before it was due and returned every single day until he had the cash in his hand.

I despised that man and men like him who were selfish, greedy, and lazy. And people like my parents suffered, struggled, and died young – and I was bitter about that, but they taught me the value of hard work. Of chasing what I wanted, whether it was easy or not – and I swore I would never claw through my existence again.

I was just a street punk. On my own before my sixteenth birthday. I worked whatever job was offered, slept under stoops, and I brawled to protect what little I held in a battered backpack. Every night I laid my head down and I was proud of how far I'd come – but there was something missing – A hole I couldn't fill. The Army didn't fill it. My bouncer gig didn't fill. Hell, even money didn't fill it. It had been left there by a beautiful young girl I'd fallen in love with. I knew from the second I laid my eyes on her that she was the one for me.

It was my first day of work at a small grocery. I was stocking shelves when she came around the corner hunting some special kind of soup for her old man. I closed my eyes for the millionth time and savored the memory of her flowing brunette hair and deep blue eyes. An angelic vision of all I ever wanted in my life. She was intelligent and smart-assed at times that tickled the heck out of me because her voice was so sweet and soft.

I went back to high school for that woman. Busted my ass to catch up what I'd missed just so I could share senior year with her.

Then prom night. I wouldn't normally spend my meager wages on a chick, but I showed up at her door in a rented tux and corsage. I didn't have a car but the she didn't mind the bus ride. Tara had been sweet. Kind and she understood me and I was gonna get us both out of that damn ghetto.

That night I swayed with her in my arms and made promises I would never break. She was my first love. My first kiss and that night - the first girl I ever made love to.

We walked home from that hotel room that night and I admitted my undying love for her – moments before we were struck by a drunk driver. I don't remember much about that moment except our hands being forced apart as our bodies were tossed into the air.

When I awoke, my arm, my neck, and my heart was broken. She was taken from me. In a second, my sweet, precious Tara, with eyes like the sky was gone.

They told me she had died instantly with no pain. No horror – but I never could understand how I had survived, but she hadn't. I had been the one walking on the edge of the road – to protect her – as my father had taught me. I had to have been hit first – so how could it have happened. I wanted to give my life for hers. I begged and prayed to trade places with her – and I spent every day standing at her grave. Including our graduation day until this guy in a uniform approached me. He'd lost his wife while he was at war and after that talk I signed up for the military and volunteered for the most dangerous assignments I could get, hoping one of them would reunite me with my love – no such luck.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

* * *

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

* * *

Chapter 2

(Baylee)

I stared at myself in the mirror while I repeatedly stroked my long brown hair. I took a wipe from a container in my drawer and began to remove the thick makeup I'd worn that day, exposing the purplish yellow around my eye. It was still swelled and there was nothing I could ever do to disguise that.

The sound of bedroom door swinging open then shutting hard made me jump.

"What are you doing?"

"Just getting ready for bed."

"People don't jump when their husbands enter the room, Baylee." He spat. "Unless they were doing something they shouldn't be doing." My husband, Brock strolled the room, bent low and I winced as his arm came my way. But instead of striking me he crossed my body and plucked my cell phone from the vanity. He scrolled through it, reading every message and screening every phone call.

"Who the hell is this?" He put the device in my face, so close I couldn't read it.

"I don't know."

"Right here!" he screamed. "Who is it?"

"It was a wrong number," I told him when the numbers came into view. And it had been. I had never cheated on Brock. I was with him or at home and when I wasn't in either of those places, I was running errands, but that still didn't stop him from accusing.

"You're lying." He pressed the phone against my nose with force. "Who was it?"

"No one." I sobbed. "I swear."

"I really wish I could trust you." He spat, dropping his thick arms to his side. He was silent for a moment and I thought maybe the worst was over.

He stared at me, eyes wide. Nearly bulging. That chiseled jaw twitching. That wild stare scared me so much. I was never sure what he would do when he looked at me that way.

"Brock. It was just a wrong number." I appealed. "Baby, I love you. Please tell me what I've done to make you think I would …"

"Shut up. Just shut up." He touched his hand gently to my chin. "You're beauty never fades." His face softened and I hoped he was sorry for accusing and for striking me the day before.

Wishful thinking.

"The pretty ones are always whores!" he suddenly screamed, thrusting my phone against the wall. It crumbled. Brock was a big man. Tall and muscular. He spent two hours in the gym every day. Every muscle of his body was sculpted except for his gut, which wasn't overly soft, but it wasn't as fit as the rest of him.

I'd been attracted to his strength in the beginning. He's made me feel so safe, but now, I wondered if he realized how strong he was when he put his hands on me.

He stomped around the room. Brooding. Accusing. I felt like a small child and I wished I curl up in a fetal position and sob. I couldn't think of anything worse than having every flaw pointed out and thrown in my face. The softness around my midsection was the focus of his harassment that night, using its existence to prove my laziness.

Then like a light switch, his demeanor turned calm again.

"But I won't have to worry about it soon." He took off his jacket, undid his tie and slipped it from his collar. He bent low and kissed my cheek. I couldn't remember when his kiss started to cause knots to form in my stomach.

"Are you coming to bed tonight?" I asked as he showered and put on a fresh suit.

"No. I got a business meeting with a foreign partner. I'll be back late." Then he was gone, leaving me to spend the night watching television alone beneath the plush comforter.

I spent a lot of nights alone. Brock had a lot of late meetings and took a lot of business trips, but he did call to check on me – a lot. And if I didn't answer there would be hell to pay.

I used to be thrilled when he'd come home after days or weeks. I remember throwing myself in his arms. I remember the smile that spread wide across his lips when he laid eyes me, but somewhere down the road that all changed.

Brock worked for my father. That's how we met. I was a secretary. A temp of sorts, filling in for here and there when needed between my college classes. I worked for him one time and after that, he couldn't seem to forget about me. He called me. Sent me texts until I finally agreed to go out with him. We dated a few months and he was a fairy tale. A real gentleman. When I took him to meet my father I never imagined I'd have to introduce him like he was just an ordinary stranger – but to be fair daddy had a lot of employees. He couldn't possibly remember them all. To get his attention an employee had to do something major to stand out. Brock had yet to do that. But he had grabbed my attention romantically.

Three years. I never thought the romance would be gone so soon. Oh, how in love we had been in the beginning. I fondly remembered nights on the town, dinner in Manhattan, private jets to the opera and long nights lying awake just talking. We had danced together, laughed together – it was so perfect. Then something in him just snapped. Oddly enough I remembered exactly when – exactly two years ago.

Brock invited his colleagues and clients to the home we shared. It had taken a year to gain my father's respect. A year to prove he was good enough to represent the family. He'd worked hard. Lots of late nights and the moment he got the promotion he wanted to celebrate.

I had never seen so many people in our home before. That's when I found out how much he liked to show off. He arrogantly showed off every possession, leaving me standing by myself. I kept myself busy playing the perfect hostess until his friend, Seth hit on me.

I paid him no mind. He was drunk and persistent. but Brock who hadn't paid one bit of attention to me the entire night managed to notice that. And when Seth said his goodbyes, he whispered something in Brock's ear that I assumed was funny by the way he laughed until he closed the door and turned a hateful glare on me. It was the first time he hit me.

Ever since then, Brock had been a monster, convinced I'd snuck off with Seth during that party and he was sure I was still seeing him behind his back. I dealt with accusations every time Seth wasn't at work and every time he was a few minutes late.

Nothing was the same. Nothing I did could change his mind. I did everything, went overboard to show him that I only loved him. I cooked extravagant dinners, all his favorites. Cleaned the house to perfection and picked up tricks on the internet and in books that would wow him in bed. Nothing worked. If anything it had made it worse and he started accusing me of learning the techniques through experience with other men.

I sighed. I believed in marriage, believed in my vows and I had meant till death do you part – but I wasn't sure I could live as someone's doormat.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

* * *

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

* * *

Chapter 3

(Dean)

"So, you're the head of security." A man in a three piece business suit sat beside me with an air of distinction. I knew his type. Tall. Composed. The type with his nose stuck in the air and not a hair out of place. You could practically smell the money on him. But I never liked assuming other people's posts. It had gotten me into trouble a few times in the Army, so I broke the habit faster than I broke bones.

"You're a little rich for this place. You might want to head out before someone jacks that wallet." I nodded at the thick wad the guy exposed as he paid for his drink.

"I didn't come here for a night cap. I have plenty of – clean – decent clubs for that – I came here to meet you."

"Meet me?" I snorted a laugh.

"I've heard you're the best."

"Yeah, well, it's not really hard to overpower a drunk." I dismissed him and tossed the bloody rag into the trash can. Another night of boring – almost. At least the hit that caused my nose bleed made me feel alive.

"I have a proposition for you Ambrose." The guy pulled out the wad and slapped the counter in front of me. "I'm a man who holds a certain level of social standing. It's my business to create the weapons of the future. I deal with – well my clients are not important here – the point is Mr. Ambrose, sometimes people I refuse to work with are offended – people who have no business asking in the first place. Our weapons are for our country and I'll be damned if I'm going to hand it over to our enemies – they don't like to hear no. It's nothing I can't handle – but my wife that's a different story. I can't be with her twenty four hours a day – I have a career – so what I need is someone to protect her when I can't."

"I'm not a babysitter buddy."

"You're in the asset protection business and I she is my best asset."

"Asset? That's a strange way to describe the woman you love." I studied his face, and gauged his reaction. Not even a flinch.

"If you think you can make better money in this …" The man looked around with a disgusted expression. "shack – You know where to find me." He downed a shot and I watched him walk out. What a jerk.

XXX

"Lesnar in there?" I strolled into the fancy office building like I belonged there.

"You can't go in there! Sir." The young pretty thing at the desk scurried as fast as she could in her tight pencil skirt, but I was already inside his office. "I'm so sorry Mr. Lesnar – he …"

"It's okay ... shut the door, Sasha. - I knew you would see things my way, Ambrose."

I strolled into the big office of Brock Lesnar and flopped into an oversized leather chair. Lesnar kept his back turned, pouring himself a scotch and rocks. Cool, calm, unaffected that I had barged in without an appointment.

"You said to call." I said. "But I guess you know that I like to do my business face to face."

"So, we have a deal then?"

"That depends."

"Oh?' Lesnar turned slowly.

"My price is double this crap." I tossed the big stack of cash Lesnar had left me with at the bar.

"That's a little steep for a man who strolled the gutters only a few nights ago."

"You sought me out, Lesnar, but if you can't afford my price – I'll be on my way." I made it to the door before Lesnar realized I wasn't bluffing.

"Double, huh? Are you that good?" Lesnar nodded as if answering his own question. "You better be for this price." He took an identical stack and laid it next to the first. "Cash. Under the table."

"I wouldn't accept it any other way. Time and place?"

"This address. Tonight – six p.m." He gave me a paper with the address to a ritzy gated estate. It made no sense. The subdivision was well known for its high level security, but what the hell? If the guy wanted to throw out good money, I'd sure as hell put it in my bank account.

"Ambrose, I want to know exactly what my wife does. Every minute of every day. I want to know who she sees. Someone is trying to take what is mine … I won't allow that."

"Yeah. Sure."

I liked to know what I was getting myself into. Leaving Lesnar's I wasn't so sure. I thought I was heading into warzone equivalent action. I high profile business man. Guns and weapons. Seemed like two much for one man to chew and I was excited – but as I walked into the hotel room I'd rented for the night – I wasn't sure I was going to need the guns hidden away in a customized wardrobe bag. I took it from where I'd hung it in the closet and set it on the bed. Then did the same with a large suitcase.

I prepared each weapon. Slapping in clips, checking barrels and putting everything back in its place. Then I laid on the bed and thought about the information I had.

Let's just say I did my homework. Brock Lesnar was the son in law of the company's owner. He'd married the man's only daughter only three years before and it still took him a year to get a promotion. He'd received plenty since, rising quickly in the company even though his work was less than impressive. He wasn't a designer. He directly deal with the customers. He was just there. Not to mention I hadn't found even the slightest bit of evidence that he was in any real danger. No attacks on record and no one at his office knew about any threats to him – his father in law received plenty – but no one seemed to be interested in harming Lesnar.

He'd called his wife an asset. Which meant the money was hers and it was protected by a iron clad prenumpt. The man's position and paycheck was a hand out because of who he married. He was an account and didn't seem to be a good one. I'd found mistakes in his work and I only kept track of my own check book.

I had a suspicion he was stealing funds from his father in law and I also wondered if he'd married for love or for the position.

The only way the man could get a dime and most likely keep his job was if his wife cheated. Looking at her picture – I couldn't tell if she was the type or not. She had a sweet appearance, but she was born to privilege and women from that side of town always thought they could have and do whatever they wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

* * *

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

* * *

Chapter 4

(Baylee)

"Can I help you?" Puzzled wasn't the word for how I felt when I laid eyes on the man standing at my door. He wore faded jeans, a tight tee shirt with a skull and a leather jacket. Disheveled hair and he needed a shave; I felt like I should shut the door in his face, but politeness caused just enough of a pause to allow the man to slip inside my door without invitation.

"You're expecting me." A scruffy voice to match the scruffy appearance made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He wasn't the kind of man I would normally meet in my life and I was immediately terrified. My father had received some threats on his life recently. He didn't give me many details and he seemed more concerned for my life than his own. He ordered me to stay home. Told me to never go outside the gated community without Brock, but Brock was never home, but I couldn't tell him that. Actually my father should already know he was at work – that's when I started to doubt my husband's word.

I didn't move from the door. My eyes watched the intruder's every move – Brock's Bentley came into view. For once I was glad to see it drive slowly through the private road maneuver into the drive.

My husband strolled into the home, pecked my cheek and shook the stranger's hand, then, without words, my husband continued on to his office.

The stranger took a seat in the antique chair that sat for show in the corner of my kitchen, stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head.

Okay? That was strange, but I wouldn't ask the man any questions. Maybe Brock what I'd told him about the conversation I'd had with my father had scared him – I was his wife after all. Losing me wouldn't be easy for him even though there had been times when I had been depressed, feeling like he wouldn't miss me at all if I didn't wake up in the next morning. There had been nights when I'd cried imaging that he would forget me before I was laid in my plot beside my mother and I was sure he'd replace me quickly.

I headed to Brock's office and poked my head in. "Hi." I said meekly.

Brock had his cell phone to his ear and barely glanced at me. "What?"

"That guy? Did Daddy receive another threat? Is there more to it than what he told me?"

"Son of a bitch, Baylee – nobody is after you – get over yourself – you're not as important as you think you are." He turned his swiveled chair away from me and went back to his phone call.

I walked away from his office feeling the sting of held back tears. I went back to the kitchen and my chores. Cleaning every speck I thought I saw and finished the dinner I'd started hours before.

I snuck glances at the man sitting in the corner. His eyes seemed to be on me all the time.

I didn't go out of my way to make the man feel welcome and that ate away at my conscious. I was brought up the right way. I was taught wrong from right in a Christian home. My mother made sure I knew how to be kind and humble. The money doesn't mean anything she had said. We have it today, but that doesn't mean it will be there tomorrow. I guess that's why I always felt out of place with other girl's growing up. I never could act or talk the way that they did.

But I didn't need to do anything that would make my husband cross. Conversing with a man I didn't know, would cause that in seconds. I had to remember that Brock thought I was stepping out on him – that man may be there to test me. Oh, how I wished I didn't live with such horrible thoughts, but I had to think of every scenario. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. I loved my husband and I knew if I tried hard enough I could make up for what I had done to lose his trust.

"You don't have a clue, do ya?" The man had a nasally growl. The gaze I gave him must have revealed my confusion. Damn, I had always been an open book. "I'm your bodyguard."

"And just what are you supposed to be protecting me from?" I hated that I thought there was another reason beside the obvious that he was suddenly there – but Brock obviously thought my father was overreacting – no one had threatened me.

"You tell me."

Maybe it was a trick. Brock was setting me up. Wondering if I would run my mouth about the way he'd struck me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I shrugged and went back to my work.

"Oh, you don't know?" He smirked. "Well, I'm guessing that little yellow mark around your eye isn't from running into the door."

"Maybe it is." I retorted. I didn't need his interrogation. What was this? Brock's new way to torture me? A way to constantly remind me of the power he wielded over me?


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

(Dean)

The woman was hiding something. I watched her as she floated through the kitchen. Trying to figure out what kind of princess I was dealing with. She busied herself cleaning, as if I weren't there. Typical rich bitch? Perhaps. But then there were those moments when she would glance. She'd give a courteous smile, a glint of manners sparkled in her eyes before she wiped the smile away and averted her eyes, But not before I noticed the fear. Something scared her. Something she didn't want to or didn't think she should acknowledge.

Baylee was a pro in the kitchen. The smell of her cooking alone told me that. No matter how much she cleaned, she never forgot the roast in the oven. Basting it often. My appetite grew with every wafting scent that escaped through the open oven door.

She never asked me to do anything. Another thing I found odd. In my experience, employers didn't care for me to sit idle on their dime. Despite my purpose, they wanted me to do some kind of chore to earn my keep. I'd refuse of course. I was a bodyguard. Not an errand boy.

A formal dining room joined the kitchen and Baylee prepared it for the meal. She set out fine china from a cabinet and used gold plated cutlery. She placed the roast on a serving platter. Carefully placing the vegetables in a circle around it until she was happy with the presentation. And she did the same with the sides. Placing each in fancy white serving bowls. When she was done, she stood back. Eyeing every detail of the table, slightly wringing her hands.

"Dinner is ready. You're welcome to join us." She invited me to sit at her table. Another shock. I'd never been invited to dine with my employers before. I usually watched and if I was lucky they would offer me a plate of leftovers.

She left the room and returned a few moments later and sat across from me. She folded a napkin on her lap and waited. She didn't reach to serve herself. Nor did she sip from her water goblet. She kept her eyes down until her husband entered the room nearly fifteen minutes after she'd taken her seat. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and handed his plate to his wife. She took it and filled it with a portion of everything she'd set on the table then handed it back to him.

"Help yourself, Ambrose." Brock addressed me without so much as a glance.

"I can't wait. This smells really great, Mrs. Lesnar."

But she didn't acknowledge my compliment and she didn't serve herself until after I had begun eating.

She remained quiet throughout dinner. I found it odd. She asked me no questions. Nothing about what she thought I was there for and even her husband didn't discuss the reasons I was there. No new information.

I complimented her repeatedly on the dinner she'd prepared.

"Thank you." She would say meekly and flit a glance at her husband that seemed almost nervous. Was she scared for him? Had he made her think he was in as much danger as her father?

Brock left the table without so much as a thank you. Moving in a way that suggested he was entitled to everything his wife had done for him. As if she should be forever grateful that he had chosen her.

Breakfast was the same. I awoke when I heard the Lesnar's bedroom door open. I peeked out my door and watched as Baylee exited. It was four in the morning. I dressed and took my place in the corner of the kitchen and again watched as she worked diligently on a large breakfast.

She had the dining room table set perfectly by the time Brock joined us two hours later, only Brock didn't stick around. He grabbed a sausage link and a piece of toast as he pulled on a jacket simultaneously.

"What are your plans today?" Brock's demanded dryly.

"Just some grocery shopping."

"That's all?"

"No. I – um – have other errands to run." Baylee stuttered. "And I may stop by The Prog for lunch."

"Hmm." Brock spat. "Who are you meeting there?"

"No one, Brock."

"Ambrose will be with you. Always. Do you understand?"

Baylee seemed surprised, a bit scared, but she didn't argue.

"And he will report back to me. He will tell me about everything you do and every one you see."

I may have known little about being in love and how married couples interacted with each other but I knew what a threat sounded like.

The woman sure did like to shop. She was loaded, yet she played the couponing game like she was a single mom living in the ghetto. She traveled from one store to the another, dragging me across town, keeping me in long lines, cashing in loads of paper. And she was organized with her little book and newspaper ads. I was impressed and also very irritated. Her husband had told me that her grocery shopping kept her out all day at the door before I'd left for work. Brock had seemed a bit suspicious, but as I tagged along, I saw she never told her husband a lie about that part of her life. Hell, no. If anything, she understated just how much time it monopolized.

I didn't complain. Actually, she made me laugh as she argued with the cashiers and the managers who tried to reject her legitimate coupons at the register. I didn't blame them. Hell, they had to pay her at the end of the transaction, but by two o'clock that afternoon, I was exhausted and she said she still had to do her regular shopping. Oh, I couldn't take anymore, but I could only tag along and be thankful that her next stop was the little café called The Prog. A humble little sandwich shop nestled in the simple part of town.

She took a booth that was apparently her favorite, by the fireplace and ordered a glass of sweet tea. I found a nearby table.

"Don't do that," she complained in a soft voice. "You make me nervous already. I'd rather have you right in front of me then staring at me from across the room." So, I joined her.

"You have company today." The grey haired waitress smiled broadly. "The husband?"

"No," Baylee said quickly.

"Oh, good," The old lady stated. "He didn't look like I imagined your husband would look like. He must be the little brother."

"He's a friend."

"A friend. Well it's about time. You dine alone too often. You're usual Miss?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You do come here a lot." I remarked after the lady had walked away.

"Since I was a kid." She sipped her tea through a straw. Baylee was a pretty woman. I could understand why Lesnar wanted to protect her. I also understood that her protection wasn't the main reason he'd hired me. Lesnar was scared his wife was cheating. She seemed faithful enough to me. She obviously never had company at the little diner if the waitress's words could be believed. And I believed they could be.

"So, what is it your husband wants me to find out?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, come on. There's has to be a reason the guy paid me big bucks to be your shadow lady. Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

"I have nothing to hide."

"No boyfriend? Nothing. It's going to be pretty stressful trying to see some guy with me around I bet." I took a bite of the sandwich that had been delivered rather quickly and studied Baylee. Watching for the tell-tale signs of deception. "I'll give you one chance. Tell me the truth and promise me it's over and I will never tell your husband. It will be our little secret."

"Which one do you want to know about?" Baylee said it matter of factly, like her indiscretions were nothing anyone should be mad about. Typically rich. They all thought they could do whatever they wanted. "There's Paul and … Ricky … and oh let's see. Craig and Justin and George."

I nearly choked on my tea.

"That's a long list."

"Oh, yes and I'm sure there's someone I'm forgetting. But don't worry. You'll meet them all."

She really was something. I rolled my eyes with disgust. The woman didn't seem to care if her husband found out. Hell, she probably had an iron clad prenumpt protecting her.

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Thank you for reading. Please review.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

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Chapter 6

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(Dean)

Like most high class women, Baylee didn't finish her sandwich. It drove me insane. What the hell was it with women thinking that it would make them look like a pig if they ate every bite?

But instead of pushing the uneaten morsels away, Baylee placed it in a napkin, wrapped it and placed it in her purse. Midnight snack. I assumed. Or perhaps she planned to finish it off in the car after she'd left the view of judgmental eyes. Although I didn't see too many of her kind where we dined.

I stood against the café wall as she paid for our meal. I had planned to pay, but whatever. She wanted to treat. I blame my male ego for making me reach for my wallet. It was job. Not a date.

I lit a cigarette. The woman took too long to pay a check. I looked over my shoulder, wondering if there was a bus boy or a cook I had over looked. Nope. She was talking to the female waitress like they were old friends.

"Come on, Lady." A light sprinkle began to fall. Making the fall weather a bit nippy. I stepped under the roof's overhand and pulled my jacket tighter.

"Ah." Baylee stepped out, closed her eyes and raised he chin, letting the chilled drops fall on her face. She took in a deep draw of fresh air, then gazed at the neighborhood around her. "It's a beautiful day."

"It's a miserable day." I spat. "I hate grey skies." And we were standing in a questionable part of town. Granted, it wasn't dirty and run down with vagrants piled up in alleys like the places I had grown up, but it was a big leap from the upscale town Baylee resided.

"There you are." A big grin crossed her lips. "I was beginning to think you were gonna stand me up."

I turned quickly. She really had the gall to meet some guy …

"Hello, Ricky."

Arrff. Arff.

A dog. Ricky was a stray dog? A knotted long haired little mutt that wagged his tail furiously. She squatted and he jumped up on her skirt, leaving dirty paw prints behind. She fed him the treat she'd saved from her sandwich. Then he rolled over on his back.

"Have you been making your rounds? You look like you're eating well." She laughed and rubbed the tummy exposed.

The thing looked like it was supposed to be a Shitzu. Was it white? Grey? I couldn't tell if the brown was part of its coat or if the thing was just that dirty.

"He's a sweet puppy." Baylee said in a baby talk way as she patted the energetic dog. "I would take him home." She sighed. "But Brock hates pets."

"Or maybe pets don't like him," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you," she said politely.

"Nothing." I pushed off the wall. "It's raining, Princess."

"My father calls me that."

"I'm sure he does."

"Good bye, Ricky. I'll see you soon." She giggled. "You behave yourself.

The little dog circled then walked up to me. I gazed down at him as he wagged his tail like he expected something.

"What?"

_Ruff!_

I ignored the pup, flicked away my cigarette butt, and followed Baylee back to the car and she opened the trunk. I climbed into the passenger's seat.

The dog stood up on its hind legs and jumped up and landed in my lap.

"Oh, no." I picked him up and placed him on outside the vehicle. "You don't want to go home with me … what the …"

I hurried to catch up with Baylee who ventured away from the car. Where was she going now? She crossed the street and began to walk down the sidewalk with a shopping bag in each hand.

"I think you made a friend." Baylee laughed.

I glanced behind me to see the dog following like he belonged to me.

"Go away." For as long as I could remember, dogs were drawn to me. I could ignore them, refuse to pet them, tell them to get lost … it didn't matter. "Shoo!"

I took quick steps to catch up with her. The dog moving its little legs as fast as he could to keep up. "Does he always follow you like this?"

"No." she giggled. "He's not following me." She came to a stop in front of run down store that looked nearly condemned. It had paper bags over the windows and the door's glass was thick with grime.

"What are you doing?"

"Running errands." She said as she swung open the door.

"Baylee!" A guy at the counter addressed her with a big grin as soon as she approached. He didn't stand up.

I stared at the place. Yellowed tile, where there was tile. Faded, chipping light green paint on the walls. Several people sat around in old chairs around an old floor model television. The picture was horrible with lines going through it and it rolled from time to time.

"Hi Paul." Baylee smiled.

"What have you got for us today?"

"Oh, just some toothpaste and toothbrushes. Shampoo, shaving cream." She laid out boxes and bottles as she placed them all on the counter. "I found some snacks and … tada!"

"Fresh fruit! That is a treat. You're a good woman, Baylee." The guy began to cough. Really hack.

"Still not feeling well?"

"It will pass." He mustered a weak smile, then he rolled his wheelchair around the desk. The guy had no legs. Baylee bent and hugged the guy, not caring if he was contagious.

"I'm just going to say hello to the guys." She let him hold her hand for a moment. "Take it easy okay?"

I watched by the door. I didn't see anyone in the place that I would want to be that close to, but Baylee squatted next to an old man who looked like he had slept in a dumpster. She gave his shoulder a gentle shake. He must have been asleep and when he awoke he gave Baylee a huge hug. Actually made a big deal out of her presence.

"Oh, my girlfriend has come by to see me today."

"Of course I would come to see you. Did you think I forgot our date?" Baylee humored the old man. "I got you something." She dipped into her shopping bag and gave the old man a suit. Pants, shirt and jacket. "Now, you're ready for that job interview." It was probably an old suit of Brocks. Maybe one before he had pumped up his muscles. At least I knew why she had climbed up into the attic before leaving the house.

"Martin?" Baylee turned to address a younger man. "Where's Martin?" The young, normal looking guy approached with a broom in his hand.

"Hi Bay." The guy looked sad and he placed a hand on Baylee's shoulder and pulled her away from the group. He whispered in her ear and Baylee's expression turned sad.

"He's in a better place now. And I bet his spirit is hanging around here laughing at all of us for being sad."

She then gave the guy a sympathetic smile and she went to the others sitting around the television. She pulled out items and handed them to the guys and I knew I heard the names Justin and Craig. Then she was saying her good byes and heading out the door.

I groaned. That little dog was still outside. It jumped to its feet and wagged its tail the moment I exited.

I squatted. The dog came right to me and I gave him a piece of the beef jerky I kept in my pocket. Then I scooped Ricky up in my arms. Yeah, I was a bad ass guy. He kicked but and acted like a didn't give a damn, but I had a soft spot for dogs. Especially ones that become attached to me. I couldn't stand the thought of driving off and leaving him behind whining and whimpering.

"Looks like you found you a home mutt." I said in his deep drawl.

Baylee looked a bit surprised, but then she gave a little smile.

"Um." I looked toward the car, at the dog in his hand then took quick steps to catch up to Baylee who had started to walk in the opposite direction again.

My feet complained and my jacket was wet. Which was not good for leather. I was cold and uncomfortable and I hated that cold wet feeling.

"I guess you're wondering why someone like me would use coupons the way I do."

"Not my business."

"No. I want you to know. The things we bought earlier – that was all for the shelter. Those thing were bought with the money they get from donations and they don't get very much of those. Most of their funds goes to paying for the rent and the utilities. There's not much left over for the little things they need to live every day. Their meals are so basic and small. It makes me want to cry. My families company always contributes to a charity. They choose one every year. I'm trying to get them to take on the shelter this year. I'm hoping they'll make it permanent."

"He's your father. I'm sure he'll do whatever you want."

"Probably, but he's not the only one who has a say. He has a few partners that have to be convinced. I give as much as I can, but its not a lot. Brock doesn't like to give money away. He doesn't believe in it. He doesn't thinks people like them are lazy. That there's no other reason for them to find themselves were they are. I'm trying to make him see he's wrong, but he's stubborn. I mean he pulled himself up from nothing … so …"

She turned down an alley.

"Whoa." I took her by the arm to stop her. "I'm not letting walk through there."

"Oh please, you're the most dangerous creature in this alley." She shrugged my hand off and headed down the alley. She stooped by the trash bin and I saw something stir. I moved closer.

A young girl, who couldn't have been more than thirteen appeared. She looked sad until Baylee handed her the bag, then gave her a few folded bills from her own purse.

"She'll come back." She assured the girl and then she was heading back. This time she returned to her car. Finally. I couldn't tell you how ready I was to get back to her house and settle in the corner.

No such luck. She drove to a nicer part of town where she turned into a facility. It was a nice place with gardens and walking paths. People in robes walked with nurses and some people sat by the pond in wheel chairs. Baylee walked inside. By passed the desk and turned down hall after hall until she finally entered a room.

Baylee stood in the door frame watching a grown man play with an erector set. She had a sweet smile on her face as she watched him play. Then she went inside and sat on the floor beside him. She put her arm around his shoulders and he placed his head on hers. She spent the whole afternoon there.

Let me tell ya, the guy wasn't all there. He made sounds and laughed and covered his ears when someone dropped a lunch tray in the hallway outside his door. Baylee soothed him. A nurse came in and handed her his lunch. She prepared the tray for him and then sat while he ate.

"He's had a good day," The nurse told her.

"Thanks."

"I'm going to go now, George." She kissed his cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"So, that's George?" I said as she drove away from the home.

"He's my brother." That was all she had to say about him. Then she went to the grocery store and did her regular shopping. Well, at least now I knew why she didn't buy anything cold at the first stores. The woman's errands took time. A lot of you for reading. Please review.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

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Chapter 7

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(Baylee)

"Hi, Mr. Ellis." I waved at the elderly next door neighbor. He smiled and dropped the garden hose. He limped over to the row of hedges that divided our property. His clothes were heavily soiled and his long white beard was dusted with fresh black earth.

"You've been working all day haven't you?" I asked, then reached inside the trunk plucked out a grocery bag.

"Eleanor would kill me if I let her garden die." He said sadly.

I gave him a sympathetic pat.

"Bless you, child." He said in a hoarse voice, choking back tears.

"Oh Mr. Ellis." I embraced the man, who had been a stone pillar all his life. "How is she today?" The man shook his head.

I glanced over the man's shoulder. A grey haired little lady sat in a rocking chair on the porch, staring out at nothing.

"Let me pay you." He pulled his wallet out of back pocket. "What's the damage today?"

"Five." I smiled impishly and the old man laughed.

"My Maybelle taught you well." He gave me a single bill then he produced a tiny little figurine, made out of wood that he'd carved himself. It was a milk maid. I loved farms and always wished I had one. Mr. Ellis had carved me an entire plantation and I kept it on a shelf in the living room.

"I think it's the most beautiful one. I love it." Baylee touched his shoulder. "I'll be over right after diner."

"Oh, I don't think I should keep going to the meetings. I was thinking about getting out of the club."

"Oh, no Mr. Ellis. You should go. You need to get out once in a while. I don't mind sitting with Miss. Maybelle."

"Ok." He relented.

Every week he said the same thing. I think it was a hard decision for him and he loved his wife, but it seemed she had drifted away even though her body was still there. It was the the saddest thing I'd ever seen. Even sadder than losing a spouse to death I imagined.

"Mrs. Lesnar." A turned toward the kid running from the back yard.

"You are a popular woman." Dean shook his head and loaded his arms with bags. "I'll take these in for you."

"Thank you, Dean." I touched his shoulder then turned toward the sixteen year old who had stopped a few foot from me. He had run so fast he'd ran out of breath. "Hi Denny. You finished already?"

"Yes ma'am. Those bushes could use trimming."

"Yes they could. How about you work on that this weekend?" I handed him a twenty. "How is the car fund coming? Adding up isn't' it?"

"Yes maam. Nearly a thousand in the bank."

"Well, that's nearly two hundred since last week." Denny was a good kid. He helped me carry the remaining bags into the house, then hung around and helped put everything away too.

Dean took a seat in the corner and just watched. I knew the expression he wore on his face. I could always tell when someone was judging me. It seemed someone always was.

"I better get home. Mom already called me twice."

"Tell her I said hello." I walked him to the door. "He works so hard. He has two jobs and goes to school. He lives two blocks over and he walks to this neighborhood every day. His father is sick and he helps pay the bills at home."

"What's he trying to buy?"

"His neighbors BMW." I giggled. "Oh, I hope he can get it. It's an old one, but I know he'll just cherish it."

"You do have a lot of men in your life." Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as I began to prepare dinner. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a smart ass."

"It didn't seem like you would be happy until I gave you a name."

Dean grinned. "I don't know what to think about you."

"I know you're judging me. Everyone does. So … have you made up your mind what kind of a rich bitch I am?"

"You're not a bitch." He grinned. "You don't find women like you wearing those brand name tags."

"It's just a label. I buy what I like. Doesn't matter what store it comes out of."

"Sure it doesn't."

"So I'm a bad person because I grew up shopping in certain stores and I happen to like those same stores as an adult?"

"I think you like to keep people on their toes. You dress and act a certain way and then bam, you shock them by being … this … this … kind, compassionate person." He stood and crossed the room, leaned on the counter and snatched a carrot from the vegetable tray I was preparing. "What I can't figure out … is if this persona is honest … or if it's an act covering up some ulterior motive."

"Hmmm." I stuck a piece of cheese into my mouth and turned my back on him. I headed to fridge and took out the whole chicken I had marinated the night before. I was honestly hurt by his accusation.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion, Mr. Ambrose."

"Now I'm Mr. Ambrose. You've called me Dean all day."

"It was a mistake to treat you as a friend." I opened the oven placed the bird inside. "I know better now. I'm sure you collected the information my husband was paying you to get by now. You'll be gone by tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Tell me about the bruises."

"It's none of your business."

"What the hell is that?"

Brock walked in that evening and pointed at the little dog that laid at Dean's feet.

"Attack dog." Dean spat from his spot in the corner. He had his legs kicked out and his arms folded and he didn't bother to lift his head. "Don't let his size fool you."

"I don't allow pets in my home."

"If he goes, I go." Dean informed him. "He's as important as this." He tapped the gun he carried on his side. "You wanted the best, right?"

"Just keep him quiet."

With that, Ricky gave a short bark. My husband groaned and walked off. Dean peeked through one eye and caught my smile. I was sure Ricky would lose his home as soon as Brock came though the door. He despised animals. He barely tolerated humans.

I had given the little dog a good bath as soon as I'd gotten the chicken in the oven. I also cut his hair as well. I had spent a lot of time in animal shelters grooming and bathing animals, so it wasn't a difficult task. He looked like a new dog, but I was sad that he would leave with Dean. That little dog was the closest to a pet I had in my life. I guess I didn't realize how badly I wanted that kind of companionship until Ricky was there in my home. I didn't want him to go. I knew I could have put up a fight with Brock to get what I wanted, but I feared how angry that would make him. I was so tired of giving up so much just to keep the peace. It was so hard. And so exhausting. I wondered if this was how marriage was. It sure wasn't the happily ever after I had dreamed it would be.

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Thank you for reading. Please Review.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

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Chapter 8

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(Dean)

"I think you like me mutt." I spoke to Ricky that night as I laid in the guest room. The dog laid on the empty side of the bed and let out a snort. I laughed. The dog seemed to be a bit of a smart as himself. I stroked the dog's fur as he stared at the ceiling.

I'd only spent one day with Baylee, but it was enough to send a shiver of electricity through my heart. There was nothing underhanded or sneaky about her. I was sure of it.

I could understand why Lesner feared losing her. She was a beautiful woman who spent a lot of time away from home. She was the type of woman that kept you on your toes. She was smart, kind hearted and unexpectantly spat out silly smart ass comments as they were deserved. I knew my Lesner loved her very much. I mean, I'd barely knew her and she'd already had me wishing … but those feelings would fade away just as quickly. Once I reported Baylee's activities, my assignment, his fears would be laid to read and my services would no longer be needed.

Two doors over, I imagined Baylee was getting ready for bed. Probably letting her hair done. I bet it fell softly across her back. I bet if fanned the pillow when she slept.

"You have to stop this, man." I ran my hands violently over my face. "She's just a job." But I could still smell her perfume. It lingered long after she'd brought a handful of towels into my room.

I got up out of bed and cracked my neck before I dropped to the floor and did a series of pushups until the romantic urges left my body.

I laid back down on the bed and I tried to relax. There was no real threat. The house was in severely secure gated community. I saw no evidence of a stalker. No one seemed to follow Baylee that day. No one approached her that I suspected could want to harm her. I had nothing to worry about. Nothing to stay alert for but I'd always hated living at my job. It felt like I was never off the clock and that made it hard to sleep.

And Baylee had made me feel so welcome and the bed was soft, the best I'd ever laid in. I almost hated that the job was going to end soon and made a mental note to find out what kind of mattress I was laying on so could replace the one I had at home.

Ricky emitted a soft, light bark and stood up. His gazed at the door, then at me, wagging his tail, then ran to the door. I got up and inched the door to find Baylee walking away from her bedroom.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"I guess I'm not ready to sleep," she gave me an apologetic smile as she passed.

"I guess that mean we're having trouble sleeping." I told the dog. "Come on." I slipped a shirt on and followed her downstairs.  
"You don't' have to babysit me." She was sitting at the small breakfast nook with a glass of milk staring at a black, starless night through a bay window.

I strolled to the fridge and poured myself a glass of milk, then took out a plate and fork and helped myself to a slice of cake from plate on the counter. I sat down across from her and put a forkful in my mouth.

"Nah. I'm not doing that. I always search for a snack in the middle of the night." She probably thought I assumed she was trying to sneak out of the house to meet her lover. But I no longer thought she was the type.

"I know why you're here." She spoke in a soft, sad whisper. "You know, I thought that Brock had hired because of what happened to my father. I thought he cared …" She wiped away a tear. "But I know that he hired you for a different reason." She gazed with squinted accusation. "You were with me all day. Rather you believe it or not, that's all I ever do. Did I do something that could be construed as adulteress? Do I sound flirty when I talk to men? If so, I can stop it and he won't …"

"You didn't do anything like that."

"I don't understand. I mean I do … but I don't want to believe …" She took a deep breath. "I really thought you were here because of my father's phone call."

"When I was hired, your husband said he received a lot of threats because of his job and he wanted to be sure no one came after you, but when I got here, he seemed to be more concerned about other things."

"Brock's been threatened, too?" a fearfully concerned expression crossed her face. "Oh no …"

"No one is after him." I said with a chuckle. "He wanted me to think he was … I don't know … more important than he was, but I do my homework. That's your father's story. Not your husband's." I couldn't lie to her. For the first time I felt

More loyalty to my target than my employer.

"I know about Daddy."

"Baylee," I reached across the table and touched her hand. "Have these people made threats against you?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "Daddy just told me not to leave the house without Brock."

Yeah, someone definitely threatened her. The man just didn't want to scare the shit out of his daughter. Maybe my job there wasn't done.

Baylee let out a gasp.

"What? What is it?" I jumped to my feet and leaned over her to look at what she was looking at.

"I don't know … I thought I saw something."

"Saw something or someone?"

"A face. Just outside the window."

"Stay here." I pulled the gun from the waistband of my jeans and headed outside. Carefully and as quietly as I could I headed toward the window.

Baylee screamed. I ran just in time to see a hooded figure pressed against the window staring inside. He ran the moment Baylee screamed. I took off after him. He wore all black and it made it hard for me to see him.

"Damn it."

I headed back inside and locked the door behind me.  
"Are you okay?"

She stood shaking in the kitchen. I didn't put my gun away, but moved closer to her.

"Hey," I slightly raised my voice to get her attention. "They'll have to kill me to get to you." I assured her. "That's my job and I'm not easy to kill."

"Promise?"

"I guarantee it."

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Thank you for reading. Please Review.


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